


Model Behavior

by greyhavensking



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Captain America's PSAs, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Standard Winter Soldier Warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:08:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25152130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greyhavensking/pseuds/greyhavensking
Summary: Captain America’s run-ins with modern media didn’t end with the Rappin’ with Cap videos.James Barnes, only just beginning to grasp at the vestiges of personhood, finds himself in the middle of a YouTube spiral.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 60
Kudos: 239





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is... not quite what I set out to write, but I had fun doing it so it can't be all that bad. I'm never as funny as I think I am, though, so take that "humor" tag with a grain of salt?

He can’t say exactly what led him to this point, aside from maybe some long-buried instinct he hasn’t had cause to use for the last seventy years or so. He could be annoyed, he thinks, that he’s spent more than several hours all but glued to his laptop screen, clicking from one video to the next and disregarding the surveillance work he’d originally sat down to sort through. 

But, well, this is a kind of surveillance, isn’t it? 

James doesn’t know himself well enough to be sure, but he thinks he used to better at lying to himself.

This really started weeks ago, when James — when the  _ asset  _ utterly failed to carry out his mission. Ensuring the successful launch of Project Insight, and, failing that, the elimination of Rogers, Steven Grant, aka Captain America. Not only are the helicarriers lying in ruin strewn across the Potomac, but the asset disobeyed direct orders and hauled the Captain to safety. He’d stuck around until the Captain was breathing ( _ blue-lipped and glassy-eyed, broken cheek, three GSWs, numerous lacerations and fast-forming bruises— _ ) and then he retreated to see to his own wounds. 

The dislocated arm had given him the most trouble when he was pulling the Captain from the river, and that made it his priority once he’d sequestered himself in the nearest safehouse. It healed as well as the rest of him after he set it (making absolutely no sound as he did so, wary of anyone who might be in earshot), and while he cataloged his various injuries, assigning times for each to heal so he could be reasonably sure of when he’d be in optimal condition, he found himself going over what he knew of the Captain. 

From the files he’d memorized, he knew the Captain had an advanced healing factor that rivaled his own.  _ His  _ injuries, though, had been more severe than the asset’s; the GSWs, in particular, had hit non-vital points (and  _ why had he done that, why hadn’t he gone for the head or the heart when he had a clean shot— _ ), but he’d been bleeding heavily when the asset got to him, not to mention whatever bacteria might’ve been in the water that could compromise his immune system, regardless of how finely-tuned it might be. 

Had he even been found by his people? 

The thought struck a chord within the asset, and he’d stopped in the middle of changing the dressing on a gash in his flesh and blood shoulder he didn’t remember getting. From the chatter the asset had picked up on the comms equipment in the safehouse, Hydra was in shambles following the death of Alexander Pierce (the name chilled the asset to the bone, though he couldn’t rationalize why, at least at first), and SHIELD was much the same because of that. Had they assumed the Captain had gone down with helicarrier? And if they were expecting a body, would they have bothered to rush when it came to finding him? He might’ve bled out, then, he’d barely been  _ breathing  _ when the asset left him—

_ Fuck _ . The asset’s chest seized at the idea of the Captain lying there in the muck, in his own blood, his skin gone gray, his eyes unseeing. It was — it was  _ familiar _ , somehow, imagining the Captain’s death, but not in the way it would be with a potential target. Angles and trajectories calculated, blood splatter accounted for so he would have a confirmation to bring back to his handlers. No, no this was different; he  _ ached  _ with it, the knowledge that this was not the first time he’d considered what it would be like if the Captain died.

Abandoning his half-finished treatment, he ransacked the safehouse for a laptop and, after making sure the proper encryptions were in place (which made no sense, he should be alerting whoever was left of the chain of command that he was alive, that he would need to be brought in, but he couldn’t bring himself to broadcast the signal), he searched for any mention of Captain America in the news.

No one had much credible information, from what he could tell; there’d been a data dump from SHIELD’s servers moments before the mess with the helicarriers went down, but people were still wading through the onslaught of files to understand what had actually happened. Captain America appeared in several headlines, but they offered nothing concrete about his condition or current location, only speculation as to why he would have helped with the destruction of the very organization he’d worked for the last two years. The organization that his supposed wartime love Peggy Carter had built alongside Howard Stark and Colonel Chester Phillips. The news outlets couldn’t fathom why Captain America would attack his own government, and the Captain himself couldn’t be reached for comments.

Because he was either dead or laid up in a secure hospital somewhere, likely unable to move from his bed. 

The unknowns sat heavily in the asset’s chest. The Captain  _ had  _ to be alive, he — the asset blinked rapidly, sagging into the chair he’d appropriated from the makeshift kitchen, hardly wincing even as it creaked alarmingly under his weight. The Captain  _ knew him _ , knew him as more than the Winter Soldier, as something other than the Fist of Hydra. He’d made it seem as though the asset had a past beyond his missions with Hydra. Called him — Bucky. James Buchanan Barnes. He had  _ answers  _ and the asset needed him alive for intel.

(If he needed him alive for other reasons, he carefully didn’t put words to those nameless feelings that bubbled up in his chest whenever his mind wandered from the task at hand)

Two days of trawling the Internet for any mention of the Captain finally settled the question of whether or not he was still alive: He’d been seen being escorted from a local hospital into a Stark Industries vehicle, clearly worse for wear but walking under his own power.

The asset had limited intel on Stark, Anthony Edward aka Iron Man; he’d been told enough to assign Stark as a level six threat while in the suit and a level three threat out of it. And while the Captain had his home base in D.C., he had been known to frequent Stark’s tower in New York, and the asset had gone over the security detail of the building, frustrated to find it would be nearly impenetrable without someone on the inside. If the Captain was taken there, the asset would need to reevaluate his options for how he would contact him.

For now, he chose to focus on another alert he’d come across while searching for news of the Captain’s status. Sometime before SHIELD’s implosion, an original Captain America suit from WWII had been stolen from the Smithsonian’s exhibit. The uniform didn’t mean much to him, but the exhibit seemed a likely source for information, one that posed far fewer risks than attempting to extricate the Captain from the tower. 

The asset would start there.

_____

A week later and James has come to terms with the fact that he, by all appearances, is in fact James Buchanan Barnes, childhood friend of Steve Rogers. The only Howling Commando to die in the war. Only he didn’t die, obviously; no, he met with an even worse fate. He’s still processing that, sifting through his fractured memories for hints of  _ before _ . They’ve started trickling in since his encounter with Steve Rogers, flashes of high-pitched laughter and bloody knuckles, bird-bones and charcoal smudges on two sets of clothes. Nothing more than a few fleeting seconds of sensations — but enough to know Steve Rogers has always been an integral part of James’ life. 

According to the exhibit, they both lost their parents relatively young, and with James’ sister ( _ a sister, fuck _ ) sent to Indiana to live with relatives, that left Steve and James to fend for themselves. Which they apparently did for years, living together in a ratty little apartment and barely scraping by, but no less happy for it.  _ That  _ James knows, not from the exhibit but from his own gut feeling. They were  _ happy _ , despite the world going to hell and Steve’s health problems and their inability to save more than a few pennies between them. 

He doesn’t know what to do with that bone-deep knowledge, but it settles something inside of him that he didn’t even realize was uneasy and restless.

He’s dug around for more scraps of Steve and James’ past, but people haven’t written much about Steve’s time before he became Captain America, and by extension that means there isn’t much about James’ history. In contrast, there’s an abundance of news articles on Steve’s life in the 21st century, though most of them are gossip rags looking for scandals. Steve’s been linked romantically to every single Avenger (he came out as  _ bisexual _ a year ago and James had to go lie down for a while after he read that), and more recently to Sam Wilson, who he’s been seen with at least a dozen times in the last week despite spending most of their time around Stark’s tower. 

There’s also — the videos.

James stumbles on them by accident. There’s a link embedded in an article he was reading about Steve attending a charity gala to raise funds for a youth outreach program in New York, and he clicks on it without thinking, curious.

The video opens on what looks like a school hallway with a chair facing the viewer. James watches, baffled, as a red-gloved hand reaches into frame and flips the chair around, and then  _ Steve’s  _ sitting down, kitted out in the most absurd uniform James has ever come across. He recognizes it, of course, from footage taken during the Battle of New York, but it’s somehow worse when Steve is fresh-faced, without any blood or tears marring the red-white-and-blue. The cowl is particularly stupid, both tactically speaking and just objectively; even Steve can’t quite pull it off, and James distinctly remembers he somehow made his USO outfit appealing. Though that might’ve been the tights more than anything else. 

_ This  _ is nothing short of a travesty.

What comes out of his mouth is even worse.

“ _ So. You got detention. You screwed up. You know what you did was wrong. The question is: how are you going to make things right? _ ”

“What the  _ fuck _ ,” James says, wide-eyed, as Captain America goes on to talk about how he knows a thing or two about being cool because  _ he was frozen in the ice for sixty-five years _ , and getting in trouble isn’t worth looking good in front of your friends. James may not be an expert on all things Steve Rogers anymore, but even he knows that when Steve acted out as a kid, he didn’t  _ apologize  _ for it, not even when he was probably in the wrong, not even to Bucky when he inevitably had to drag his ass out of fights he couldn’t win by himself. 

There’s a compilation video that starts playing right after the first one and the PSAs get increasingly ridiculous, all of them making some kind of reference to Steve’s service in the war or the super-soldier serum.

“ _ You don’t have to be injected with a secret government super-soldier serum to have strong bones and muscles. A well-balanced diet is one the best ways to keep your body healthy _ .”

What the fuck.

“ _ Hi, I’m Captain America. I love celebrating this great nation on the 4th of July, but trust me, there’s nothing patriotic… about illegal fireworks _ .”

What the  _ fuck _ .

“ _ I’m here to talk to you about one of the most important weapons in any soldier’s arsenal — math _ .”

_ What the actual fuck _ .

These wouldn’t have swayed any kids in the thirties, and James sincerely doubts that they’d be all that more relatable  _ now _ . Especially when Steve’s fraught relationship with any kind of authority is public knowledge; the man frequently disobeyed orders during the war because he thought he knew better than the higher-ups. The fact that that was mostly true doesn’t negate his insubordination, even if the US Army chose not to reprimand him for it. 

And Steve looks so uncomfortable during the videos. He hides it well, James thinks, tucking all of it away behind a blinding smile he probably picked up from the USO girls, shoulders squared and his legs spread in a stance that denotes power that Steve definitely wasn’t actually feeling. James winces more than once while watching, and not only because of how corny the lines are.

When the compilation ends and there isn’t another PSA video, James figures that’s it — Steve got roped into doing these (for who, the government? The New York school system?), realized they were ultimately pointless, and wisely backed out of the spotlight, as much as he would’ve been able to. But then he glances at the recommended videos section and his eyes catch on one halfway down the page:  _ CAPTAIN AMERICA | Under Armour Ad Campaign _ . 

He doesn’t hesitate to click on it.

Steve doesn’t have to act in this one, at least; instead, it’s a montage of Steve in tight-fitting work-out gear (most of it navy blue, with the occasional pop of red or white) going through various routines in a well-lit gym. Push-ups (one-handed, the showoff), pull-ups, lunges. There’s a shot of him running around an indoor track and James can tell without really thinking about it that he’s considerably slowed down for the sake of the camera. Someone’s narrating the benefits of Under Armour over the footage but James barely pays it any attention, and when he spots another commercial Steve appeared in, he puts it on immediately.

This one is for Nike, apparently, another brand James has never heard of but is clearly designed for athletes specifically. It’s Steve pulling the laces of his shiny running shoes tight, the camera panning up to his steely-eyed face — and it’s a look James knows, a look he’s seen a thousand times even if he only remembers a handful. That’s Steve Rogers gearing up for a fight. It makes for a good on-screen image, though James fails to see how this is supposed to entice someone into buying the shoes. Is it just that they’re apparently good enough for Captain America so people would be — what? Foaming at the mouth to get their hands on a pair? 

Sure,  _ James  _ is interested, but he’s learning he’s more than a little biased when it comes to Steve Rogers, so his opinion shouldn’t be taken at face value. 

There are a few more videos, some of them clearly rehashing previous footage to really get the most out of what was probably a limited contract with Steve. Captain America also did a stint on —  _ Sesame Street _ , which is… puppets. For kids. James squints, watching Steve laugh (patented chest grab and everything, which means he’s  _ really  _ laughing, purely genuine) at whatever the red-furred puppet said to him, and while he maybe doesn’t understand the reason Steve is enjoying himself so much, that doesn’t mean he isn’t pleased about it. He hasn’t had much cause to feel  _ pleased  _ in a long, long time, and it’s fitting that it’s Steve, open and practically giggling he’s so happy, that’s triggered the reaction in him.

“ _ C is for Captain _ ,” Steve says, his mouth already quirking into a smile even before the blue-furred puppet bursts into the scene, brandishing a plate of cookies and insisting that  _ C is for cookies!  _ instead. 

It pings something in the recesses of James’ mind — someone, not him, someone else, one of the Commandos, maybe? But someone cheerfully snatching Steve’s helmet from his hands and hoisting it above their heads. “ _ Don’t fall for the propaganda! This here A don’t stand for America, boys. It stands for  _ asshole _! _ ” And then someone else cutting in with, “ _ Ain’t that the same damn thing? _ ” That — that might’ve been his own voice, actually, and then there’s the phantom feeling of warm hands shoving at his chest, tugging at his collar when he tries to twist away.

“ _ Christ, Buck, don’t encourage ‘em, else I’ll never get the stupid thing back. You wanna hafta explain why Captain America got clocked so hard in the head he keeled over? _ ”

“ _ You say that like your thick skull ain’t enough to break a few hands, Rogers. Your brain’ll be well-protected — what’s left of it, anyway _ .”

“ _ Fuck you, too, Barnes! _ ”

James blinks out of the memory, mouth curved in an unconscious smile, to see  _ Sesame Street  _ has finished and that it’s automatically started playing the next video. And that’s—

That’s a dick.

James nearly chokes on his fucking tongue.

Because it  _ is _ , indeed, a dick. A clothed dick, but a dick nonetheless, nestled very snugly in a pair of star-spangled briefs. James’ eyes widen, the synapses in his poor brain attempting to fire but not making any connections. That’s — that’s  _ Steve’s  _ star-spangled dick, oh fuck oh fuck oh  _ fuck _ . And it’s right alongside Steve’s very thick thighs and there’s  _ a lot of skin _ , fucking Christ, is this legal? James’ heart feels like it’s just been injected with a straight shot of adrenaline, like it might trip right out of his chest, and he can’t pull his eyes from the screen where Steve Rogers stands, wearing only the fucking briefs — and he’s  _ glistening _ , everywhere from his absurd shoulders to his equally ridiculous pecs to his toned abs. The camera shot cuts off just below his nose but James would know that heroic jawline anywhere.

He has to reiterate this:  _ what the ever-living fuck _ .

That Steve would agree to — James darts a glance at the title of the video — a  _ Calvin Klein underwear commercial  _ is… confusing. James has far more memories (cobbled together as they are) of Steve before the war, but still, he knows that Steve was often uncomfortable with people who only wanted him for his genetically-engineered physique; he complained to James that none of it felt authentic and that he didn’t particularly like stripping down even in front of the Howling Commandos, despite being (frequently) assured that none of them gave a shit about what he looked like. 

Had so much changed between then and now, with Steve only a few years out of the ice? But even then, this video was posted in 2012,  _ right  _ after Steve had been reanimated...

Feeling more than a little guilty for staring so long (he’d paused the video at some point and it says a lot that he doesn’t remember doing it), James minimizes the browser and shoves the laptop across the battered table. He doesn’t want to know how long he spent clicking from one video to the next, so he doesn’t bother checking the clock; by his internal estimate, though, he’s been at this for the better part of the afternoon. Which is a little humiliating, and no amount of telling himself this was for  _ research purposes  _ is going to change that.

But. He doesn’t mind it, not really. He might’ve strayed from the mission’s initial parameters, but that’s  _ good _ , isn’t it? That’s not something the Winter Soldier would be able to get away with. Without Hydra breathing down his neck, without the wipes, without cryo, he’s allowed to deviate from set plans. He’s allowed to let his mind wander off track. He’s  _ allowed  _ to nearly have a heart attack over seeing Steve Rogers in the tightest pair of briefs known to man. And that’s — overwhelming, in the best way.

As James sits there, unable to staunch the smile that creeps over his face, laughing a little to himself, he realizes something even better — not only is he allowed to be sidetracked, he’s allowed to  _ do something about it _ .

_____

Three weeks after the fall of the Triskelion, Steve Rogers finds himself outside his own front door — his new front door, actually, seeing as his place in DC is still technically an active crime scene. He could have stayed at the tower longer (Tony insisted that he did, though not directly, and not without about a half dozen jokes about how Steve probably didn’t bounce back like he used to, seeing as he was nearly a century old), but he always feels stifled there. Almost claustrophobic in spite of the vast amount of space his floor afforded him. 

More than that, though, he just wants to be alone for a while, and everyone (Sam included) seems to think he’s making a dumbass choice to act on that desire. Maybe he is; he can’t say he cares all that much. He’s certainly made worse choices with much higher stakes — this really doesn’t even rank in the grand scheme of things.

With a quiet sigh, Steve fits the key into the lock on his front door, gratified that it doesn’t stick at all when he goes to turn it, that the door swings open with an easy glide. He’s not surprised, considering it was Tony who bought the place for him, but it eases some of the tension in his shoulders to know there isn’t another obstacle to him getting inside and collapsing on the couch. 

He drops his duffel bag in the small closet just off the entryway, stows his motorcycle helmet on the shelf just above it. Tosses his keys onto the coffee table and drops soundly onto the couch cushions, not bothering to stifle the grunt that leaves him at the movement. He was mostly healed after that first week, the major wounds well on their way to disappearing, but some of the smaller ones are lingering — bruises just shy of fading, muscles still sore from overuse. Nothing he can’t handle, but annoying reminders of his own mortality nonetheless.

Later, the fact that he’s not quite at his best is how he’ll justify missing the signs of someone else having been in the brownstone with him. As it is, though, he only notices when there’s a deliberate creak of the floorboards, and he’s on his feet in an instant, reaching instinctively for the shield only to remember they haven’t managed to dredge it from the Potomac yet. He doesn’t need it, he can still fight, he’ll just have to—

Steve freezes when he meets the eyes of the intruder.

“Bucky?”

“Hey, Rogers,” Bucky says, and there’s the shadow of a grin on his unshaven face, made all the more visible when he tucks his hair behind his ear. He studies Steve for a moment, as Steve does the same to him, then huffs something like a laugh to himself and shakes his head, lifting a brow at Steve as his mouth twists wryly.

“You know, I’m really hoping they let you keep the briefs from that Calvin Klein shoot. They really gave your USO costume a run for its money.”

Steve doesn’t know whether he should laugh or cry at that, but he’s pretty sure he does a little of both as he drags Bucky into a crushing hug. Either way, it’s alright, because Bucky’s doing the exact same thing, holding on just as tight. 

Fucking  _ Calvin Klein _ . 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prepare for... more angst! Dumb boys being dumb! Fluff! Me making stupid callbacks to TFA! And a small helping of terrible humor! 
> 
> (this... got away from me again lmao I swear I didn't mean to write this much for the follow-up chapter)

“Steve.  _ Steve _ .”

A hand — sleep-warm and rough with callouses — gently wraps around his shoulder, nudging him until Steve groans and rolls onto his back. The cold press of wood against his bare back startles him for a moment, his shoulders hunching in surprise, but then he blinks open his eyes and he remembers why sleeping on the living room floor was the best decision he’s ever made in his life.

Bucky is sitting on his couch, cross-legged, stretched out so that he can get a hand on Steve. His hair is a mess, more so than it was even yesterday; it’s too greasy to be fluffed up or overly knotted from sleep, so instead it’s flattened on one side and hanging in clumpy strands on the other. Purple-black bruises hang beneath Bucky’s eyes, and Steve almost makes a hurt sound in the back of his throat at the thought of Bucky so sleep-deprived that his version of the serum can’t keep up. But he looks far from miserable as he notices that Steve’s awake, his mouth curling into a faint grin, eyes bright.

God, Steve’s missed him. He’s  _ ached  _ for him. Thinking Bucky was dead at least gave him a modicum of comfort; he’d escaped the war, at least, maybe he’d even gone to fill Steve’s ma in on all the shit Steve had pulled since she’d passed away. Reality had just about shattered Steve; seeing him on that highway, knowing in his fucking bones that he’d failed Bucky, that he’d  _ abandoned  _ him to Hydra and seventy years of hell, had done more damage than the Winter Soldier’s metal arm could ever hope to match.

_ But _ , he reminds himself, automatically smiling back at Bucky, shoving down the tears he feels itching at the back of his eyes,  _ Bucky’s here. Right now, that’s all that matters _ .

He’s not naive enough to think that Bucky snapping out of his conditioning is the end of his torment. The file Natasha slipped him on his way out of the tower promised that Bucky was in for much worse than the crick he probably has in his neck for sleeping on Steve’s couch for a night. But, again, right now Bucky is stable and  _ here  _ and smiling, and Steve isn’t going to ruin that. It’s why he hasn’t contacted anyone about Bucky just yet; Natasha and Sam are going to want to strangle him for being reckless, but  _ fuck _ , Steve needs this, just as much as he suspects Bucky does. Needs to have at least a few days where they can feel each other out, see how they fit together again, all these years later. Bucky has Steve’s support, always, and Steve wants him to believe that wholeheartedly before anyone else gets brought in on this.

“Mornin’, Buck,” Steve murmurs, knuckling the sleep from his eyes. The blanket he’d snagged from his bed last night got kicked away some time during the night, but the pillow under his head is still there, and he turns his head to rub his cheek into it before he flicks his eyes back to Bucky. That’s also when he takes note of the laptop Bucky has perched next to him on the couch cushion. It’s not Steve’s — Stark foisted one off on him before he left, essentially stuffing it into Steve’s bag and ignoring his protests, which means it’s… still in the closet. Steve should probably do something about that. Later, though. “You lookin’ something up?”

Bucky doesn’t reply, just plucks up the laptop and spins it around as he settles it in his lap, tipping down the screen so Steve can see it.

Heat rises in Steve’s cheeks instantly, because —  _ Christ  _ — that’s him. His body, anyway, wearing nothing but flag-themed boxer-briefs, hands on his hips, shoulders back to emphasize his— 

Well. His chest. Which is not how Natasha referred to it when she saw this particular photoshoot, but Steve is resolutely  _ not going there _ , thanks. He can already tell from the (heart-wrenchingly) familiar glint in Bucky’s eyes that he’s in for a fuck-ton of ribbing from his best friend.

“Buck,” he says, weakly, like it’s somehow possible to head this off at the pass.

Except — except Bucky pauses at his tone, brows drawing together as his mouth opens then immediately  _ clacks  _ shut, lips thinning out into a severe line. He leans back, further into the couch and away from Steve, taking the laptop with him. Like he’s wary of offending Steve, of making him mad, as if Steve is going to… shit. 

Steve fights the urge to rocket to his feet and throw his arms around Bucky, just squeeze the fear right of him. That’s likely only going to scare him even worse, so Steve carefully sits up, hands spread in a placating gesture. Bucky’s eyes flick between his hands, then over his face, then down his body, and Steve is actually grateful he threw off his shirt before he passed out last night, that he’s only in his sweatpants, sleep-rumpled and as vulnerable as he can be in this body. The stance itself doesn’t ease the worry evident in Bucky’s stiff shoulders, but he doesn’t flinch when Steve slowly, giving him ample time to move away, rests a hand on his bare ankle and reflexively squeezes.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” Steve says softly, even as it hurts  _ him  _ to have to promise that when it’s always been an unquestionable fact of their relationship. “I would never, Bucky, I swear. Especially not ‘cause you’re makin’ fun of me. Trust me, okay?” Trust may be too much to ask, but Bucky  _ came home _ , he recognized Steve, and even if he doesn’t have all his memories he has to know that Steve will always be there for him. That he loves him with his whole damn heart. His mouth quirks into a half-smile. “The Howlies used to bust my ass worse than you ever did, Buck, so don’t worry about saying the wrong thing. Or, try to, at least; I know it can’t be easy for you.”

Bucky doesn’t move for a moment. He watches Steve through narrowed eyes, assessing; his grip on the laptop gradually loosening. Then he lets out a quiet breath and nods. “Okay,” he says, just as soft, “I’ll try.”

Steve beams, squeezing his ankle again. “Somethin’ you wanna ask me about the briefs, Buck? Besides whether or not they’re currently in my dresser?”

They aren’t — or, they’re not in Brooklyn with him. Most of Steve’s stuff is still in DC or the tower, and he’s pretty sure he specifically left the briefs in his tower apartment, along with all the tacky Captain America-themed knick-knacks that Stark thought were  _ vital  _ to Steve’s integration into the twenty-first century. He would’ve just thrown them out, probably, but when he got back from that shoot he’d been more than a little mortified and just wanted any reminder of it out of sight, so he’d stuffed them in the back of a drawer and promptly forced himself to forget about them. Plus, he’s not a hoarder (like Stark loves to accuse him of being), but he can’t quite reconcile the idea of throwing out perfectly good clothes simply because they embarrassed him. He’d donate them, but. It’s  _ underwear _ . Not exactly something you pass onto someone else.

The prompting gets some of the color back in Bucky’s face, and he taps his finger against the screen, a little too close to Steve’s groin for comfort, but, well, Steve’ll take that over Bucky being afraid of him.

“You did this willingly?” Bucky asks, raising a brow, clearly disbelieving. 

And Bucky  _ would  _ find it strange if he has any memories of Steve during the war. Steve never had the chance to get accustomed to his body, not with the kind of missions they were sent on; he got used to it, sure, he knew how to use it effectively when the situation called for it. But outside of a mission, Steve still saw himself as that sickly kid who no one ever looked twice at unless they were swinging at him. Having people fall over themselves trying to get his attention or approval never sat right with him, and when he could get away with it, he let Bucky take over, charming young, hero-worshipping soldiers and handsy SSR members alike until they’d all but forgotten about Captain America.

Steve regrets that, now. Not because he was ever jealous of Bucky (he had been, when they were younger, but that burned itself out into pride and admiration by the time they were living together) but because, when he looks back on those memories, he sees what what he’d been blind to in the moment — how exhausting it was for Bucky to slip back into his pre-war persona, to smile and laugh like he wasn’t all cut up inside, like he wasn’t hanging onto his sanity by a thread. Bucky had needed him then and Steve… Steve didn’t see it.  _ Refused  _ to see it, because  _ he  _ needed his best friend by his side while he hunted down Nazis and awkwardly flirted with the only woman who’d given him the time of day before the serum. 

Steve can feel his smile dimming, and the last thing he needs is to make Bucky even more paranoid, so he huffs a self-deprecating laugh and shakes his head.

“To say I was  _ willing _ might be kind of a stretch.” Telegraphing his movements so as not to startle Bucky again, Steve leverages himself off the floor and drops down onto the couch beside Bucky, who flips the laptop back around and wedges it into the space between them. Steve opens another tab and starts typing into the search bar, Bucky watching him with a quiet intensity that’s going to take some getting used to. “I almost hope you haven’t, but, uh, I’m gonna assume you’ve seen these?”

Bucky barks a laugh at the sight of Steve in his first twenty-first century suit, grinning uncomfortably at the camera. It might be at his expense, but Steve couldn’t care less; that Bucky’s laughing at all is too precious of a gift for him to give a shit about what caused it. Except to note that he’d gladly make a fool of himself any time as long as Bucky keeps laughing at him.

“Hypocrite,” Bucky says, and it’s soft and a little rough, but Steve knows that tone better than he knows his own fucking name. Fond and exasperated and just a breath away from even sweeter laughter. Steve’s chest constricts, hearing it, but he ignores the pain and rolls his eyes because that’s what Bucky needs right now, some sense of normality. 

“Yeah, yeah, get it all out, Barnes. You’re a real pal, makin’ fun of me in one my darkest moments.” But he’s smiling like the idiot he is, unable to contain it. “I did these right after I woke up here, a few weeks after the Chitauri attack.” He pauses, glancing at Bucky to see if he’s confused (Steve has no idea if Bucky would’ve been out of cryo for that, or if he’d remember it at all if he had been); Bucky just nods at him to continue, and Steve is happy to oblige. “They told me I’d be able to help a lot of kids if I did these videos, get them on the right path or whatever, make sure they don’t get into too much trouble. ‘Course that was a weird concept for me, given my own colorful youth” — Bucky snorts and Steve can’t blame him even a little — “but I was… I wasn’t doing too hot, Bucky, not back then. I kinda latched onto this because I needed a purpose now that the Avengers-level shit had been dealt with for the time being.”

It’s another one of his regrets that he didn’t look into this more before he agreed to the videos, but it’s minor compared to everything else. The videos added to the propaganda that had sprung up around while he was in the ice, giving people the impression that he really was everything the conservative politicians had made him out to be for decades. They weren’t important, not in the grand scheme of things, but they were part of the reason he eventually came out publically as bisexual, trying to push back against the amoral assholes who greedily used his image to bolster all their bullshit traditional values.

“But, god, Buck, I was so embarrassed when I started running through the lines. I swear they had to edit out how red I was, especially when I was doing the one about kids’ bodies changing…”

Bucky’s laughing again, raspy and warm, sinking back into the couch and pressing his face half into the throw pillow he’d pulled into his arms. He cracks an eye open to look at Steve, then chokes out another laugh, apparently unable to help it.

“You always were the delicate sort, Rogers,” he says when he’s calmed down, his nose scrunching up adorably as he smiles. “It’s a wonder you were able to draw all those dirty comics without burstin’ into flames.”

Fuck, Bucky remembers  _ those _ ? Tijuana Bibles. Steve did them on the side for a little extra cash when he and Bucky were really struggling and Bucky  _ loved  _ offering Steve suggestions while he was working on them, to the point where Steve had to ban Bucky from the apartment when he had deadlines. Bucky never took offense, just laughed it off and went out dancing or to visit whatever girl he was seeing that week. 

When Steve only glares at Bucky (doing a poor job at distracting from how red he’s getting  _ now _ ), Bucky snorts again and pulls up another video. It takes a second for Steve to place it, but then he sees himself  _ again _ , wearing too-tight workout clothes from a familiar brand. 

“That one,” Steve sighs, hanging his head. “That one is all Pepper’s fault.”

Bucky listens attentively as Steve recounts how Pepper all but black-mailed him into doing a few ads for various companies that had been hounding Stark Industry’s PR team for months. Steve was, as Pepper explained it, the least volatile Avenger to have in the public eye (a statement she soon learned to regret), so it fell to him to do the publicity stunts that allowed the world to see them as  _ human _ , and not just monolithic superheroes. Stark, apparently, was a little too human when it came to the media witnessing his exploits; Natasha and Clint, at the time, were still nameless figures aside from their call signs; Thor was regularly off-world; and Bruce couldn’t do anything that involved that many people without his anxiety spiking dangerously. Which left Steve — or, really, it left Captain America, good, wholesome, all-American man that he was. 

That probably wouldn’t have gotten Steve to agree to do the ads all on its own, but Pepper had known him better than he would have thought, because she promised that a portion of the ad campaigns’ proceeds would be donated to several charities of Steve’s choice, and that SI would match the contributions. Steve caved pretty quickly after hearing that, and though he still feels like an idiot for some of the commercials he did (the one for Gucci’s cologne had resulted in him having a sneezing fit and subsequently upending an entire table of glass bottles), he’s grateful some good came out of it.

When Bucky moves onto his Sesame Street appearance, Steve gets a little giddy over the memories.

“Buck, it was so much fun! All the people who work on the show are so nice, and the puppets are adorable, and the kids, the  _ kids _ , Buck. I’ve never laughed so hard in my life as I did listenin’ to them makin’ up all these stories about where my shield really came from or how I got so big. God, I’d love to go back on the show if they’d have me. That was the only guest appearance I really enjoyed, ya know?”

When Steve eventually realizes he’s rambling (or gushing, whatever), he laughs a little to himself and passes a hand over his face, willing away his blush. Leaning back against the armrest of the couch and cupping his chin in his hand, he chances a look at Bucky, and—

_ Oh _ .

The expression on Bucky’s face is one he hasn’t seen for a long, long time. It was a fleeting thing while they were in Europe, a show of vulnerability that Bucky couldn’t afford to let the world see, let alone their men. He looks like he’s been cracked open, almost, too soft, tender. Raw. Steve swallows, unsure what to do with this gift, and maybe Bucky can read that on his face because he moves the laptop aside and shifts closer to Steve, maneuvering until he’s kneeling in between Steve’s legs.

“Glad to see you’re still this sweet inside, Stevie,” Bucky murmurs, his face tipped down close to Steve’s, hands resting gently on Steve’s shoulders. “Though I could’ve guessed that from the helicarrier. Christ, you’re just as much of a bleeding heart as you were when we were kids, picking fights with every goddamn bully you crossed paths with.”

His heart’s beating so loudly Bucky must be able to hear it. Steve swallows again, then gingerly sets his hands on Bucky’s hips, not pulling or pushing, just letting them rest there, giving Bucky the same contact he’s giving Steve. It takes a couple tries for him to find his voice.

“I’ve changed,” he admits, whispering without really knowing why. “I’m — I’m different than I was when you knew me, Buck, but that’s… that’s still the same. ‘Specially when it’s you I’m fighting for.”

He hears Bucky suck in a sharp breath and then there’s heat against his face, Bucky’s mouth just an inch from his own. He doesn’t dare to move, terrified of ruining this, whatever it is, terrified of taking advantage even if it’s Bucky that’s started it.

Bucky’s quiet for a moment, and then he says, “We didn’t do this. Before. Did we?”

“No,” Steve confirms, and  _ fuck _ , he can’t even remember why that’s true, not really. “I don’t think… I don’t think either of us thought too much about it. Didn’t wanna mess things up between us. At least, that’s — what I’ve realized since you… since I lost you. But, Buck, I—”

Bucky kisses him. It’s chaste, just their lips pressing together, noses nudging against each other, and it’s over far too soon for Steve’s liking. Bucky pulls back slightly, resting their foreheads together, his hands having migrated up into the hair at the nape of Steve’s neck. Steve barely notices the difference, Bucky’s metal hand warmed by the heat of his skin, but he’s relieved all the same that Bucky’s touching him with both hands, that he’s trusting Steve that much. They’re both smiling and all Steve wants to do is dive back in for another kiss, really take their time, but. He waits, lets Bucky take the lead. It’s the least he can do.

“What about the briefs, Stevie?”

Steve blinks, nearly going cross-eyed trying to meet Bucky’s gaze. “ _ What _ ?”

“The briefs. Calvin Klein? Did you do that for Pepper, too?”

Bucky’s  _ teasing _ , Jesus Christ, Steve isn’t going to survive this. “No, you fucking jerk. I…” There’s really no way to skirt around this. “I lost a bet to Natasha, alright?”

Something Steve’s learning quickly is that the only thing better than Bucky Barnes laughing is being able to  _ feel  _ that laughter in his chest while he does it.

“I should thank her, then,” Bucky says, ducking down for another kiss. “Don’t know when I woulda worked up the courage to come here and see you if I hadn’t found that ad.”

“The fucking briefs brought you here?” Steve might have thought they had something to do with it, since that’s what Bucky had referenced last night when he first showed up, but. Really?

“You looked damn good in them, Rogers, don’t act so surprised. You know I’ve always been a goner for a cute blond in their cute underwear…”

The fact that Bucky definitely had a type back in the thirties is something that Steve is going to pick apart and overanalyze later, when he doesn’t have a lapful of supersoldier and he’s not so intent on kissing the smirk off his unfairly attractive face. God, even with the shadows under his eyes and the greasy hair and the general dishevelment, Bucky is still the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen in his life. And that’s another thing that hasn’t changed in nearly a century.

Another kiss, and then Bucky sits back on his heels, his expression tightening. Steve lightly runs his hands up and down Bucky’s side, trying to offer comfort even when he’s not sure what’s wrong.

“This… won’t be easy, Steve,” Bucky says, not quite able to meet his eyes. “I’m not all here, not really. I didn’t just wait for you to settle in somewhere other than Stark’s tower to come visit, I… I lost time there. A lot of it. I know what I was doing, I saw myself on the security feed in the safehouse, but I don’t  _ remember  _ it. And it feels easier with you, but I’m not fixed by a long shot, and you should—”

Steve returns the favor and cuts him off with his mouth, pressing a little more insistently so that Bucky can feel his intent. Bucky resists for a second, then sighs into his mouth and kisses back, sinking down until he’s flush with Steve’s chest.

“Buck,” Steve says, sliding his hands up to cradle Bucky’s face between them, “I’m with you, alright? Till the end of the line. We’ll get you the help you need, do whatever we have to make you feel safe, and I promise I’ll be there every step of the way. I want you here, I want you  _ with me _ , always. Nothing you can throw at me is gonna change that.”

Steve thumbs away a tear that spills down Bucku’s cheek, smiling up at him with all the love he has in him. Bucky makes a broken noise and smushes his face into the crook of Steve’s neck, and Steve wraps him up tight in his arms, holding on for as long as Bucky wants him. He let him go once, he’s not doing it again.

Later, when they’ve both settled down and Steve’s idly contemplating what they should do about breakfast, Bucky turns his head against Steve’s shoulder, his mouth curving up against Steve’s neck. Uh-oh.

“You kept the briefs, though, right?”

Steve huffs a laugh, squeezing Bucky to his chest. “You know what? They’re definitely growing on me.”

**Author's Note:**

> I kinda wanna do a follow up to this but I'm not sure yet. If people want to see Bucky grilling Steve about why he did these ridiculous ads, let me know and I'll see what I can do!
> 
> find me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/greyhavensking)


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